Archive for the ‘Rants’ Category


I think it was when the elevator arrived on the Emirates floor that I knew I wouldn’t be going. There was a man in a suit and a name tag surrounded by people, he was talking to an Indian fellow who was complaining that his family got free accommodation in Dubai so why did he have to pay here?

There was a family nearby sitting on the floor, mum was leaning on dads shoulder, little brother and little sister were asleep in their parents laps drooping like dolls. A teenager complained to to her father that the battery to her iPod had just like gone flat and that this was lame and could they please just go back to the hotel because they were playing Sex in the City soon on tv and she’d only seen that episode ‘like-once’.

( ↑ This dude had the very worst job in the world that day)

I approached a man that had a funny lopsided sad smile and asked where the back of the queue, he pointed at a little machine and told me I could get a number.

The counter was up to 62, I got 183. I sat down on the floor next to a woman reading a guide book.

After about 40 minutes I tried talking to the man in the suit with the name tag who was still surrounded by people. He took one look at my itinerary and smiled a grimace at me.

“I don’t think your connection from Dubai to Paris will fly. There is a possiblity that we won’t even be allowed to put you on the flight TO Dubai. ”

Heart, meet my shoes.

“Can I get a different flight?”

“I’m going to have to wait in this queue for a refund?”

I went to take my spot back on the floor when the lady who had been sitting next to me with the guide book handed me her number.

“I don’t need to wait” she said. Her accent was French.

“Are you sure?”

She handed the peice of paper to me, it was 103. I thanked her profusely and she turned and headed for the elevator. I just want to say in case that lovely lady by chance reads this. Thank you again.

At this stage it was up to 72 or similar. Phil and I whiled away the time playing monopoly on my iPhone. And I occasionally would call out the number on the screen, fufilling an vauge urge to help this tired mass of people around me.

When my number was called I jumped up like I had won bingo.

The lady at the counter’s name was Margret. She had a gold nametag and had already dealt with many bingo winners today and clearly the excitement had worn off. She squinted at my itinerary.

“I can send this to the Melbourne office, they will give you a refund” she then stamped and stuck and wrote stuff all over my itnarary. Told me thankyou and motioned for me to leave.

My bingo prize didn’t seem as exciting as when my number was called – what kind of idiot gets excited about NOT going to Europe.

That night in the hotel in Singapore just after I had gotten into bed I felt sad, then annoyed then I totally paniced. What if my flight flew? What if the Emirates man was wrong? I had been waiting for this for 5 months. What if I had just given away my only chance to see Paris? What if the volcano never goes away and the only way to travel in the future is on curise liners stuffed with old folk?

Im pretty sure that volcano-stunted-holidays are very much a first world issue and that really I should have been ok with being in Singapore in the first place. But I wasn’t ok with it, so I had a bit of a moment. I know there are starving kids out there and some Americans dont know where it is on a map but I really really wanted to go to Europe. And I wasn’t going to Europe. And that sucked, so I cried.

I once had to eat 7/11 sandwiches for a week because I spent too much money on pens.

I’ve met a few with this affliction. Those who step into office supply shops and suddenly flush with an excitement most reserve for the bedroom. Those who actually care very very much about which pen the write with, those who can debate lined over grid paper. Those who can quite happily drop $20 on a pack of pens from Japan because no one can quite make the ink flow smoothly like the Japanese.

I’ve shared these urges with the general public and am usually faced with a mix of disbelief and suggestions I see someone. But we all have our things that others find odd, like stamp collecting or being a Skunk enthusiast.

What brought this on was a visit to a local art supply shop. I didn’t need anything in particular but I went in anyway.

I caught myself with my hand on a Moleskine gridded reporters notebook. I didn’t actually need it, the first draft of this post is written in something almost exactly like it with three quarters of its pages free.

In this wide world there are many things that can corrupt the brain. There are people who snort stuff, drink stuff and take stuff. Then there are those who get their highs from new pens and paper.

Why do I have these raging notebook urges? What was wrong with my brain? Something that a few shared and the rest thought was insane.

I have always been this way. At age 4 mum only had to provide me with a packet of pencils and a new colouring book and I would sit there and fill the lot in. At 7 while my little brother got matchbox cars, I was quite happy with a set of unicorn shaped erasers. At 12 I made my own tiny envelopes and letter heads to send tiny letters to my tiny friends. And at 23 I’m reaching for a blank notebook I can barely afford and have no great need for.

I think I, and those like me see something that others see in things like children, race cars and Ikea. We have experienced it, the magic of a design so comfortable on the paper it was created on, it may as well have always been that way. Or a piece so perfectly written that even your messy handwriting can’t detract from it and may even enhance it’s charm.

Its about potential. All those empty sheets of paper, all those unused pens full of virginal ink, all that potential to create something great.

We’ve felt the joy of those materials, those humble little pens, help us create something we feel is great. And that is a great joy, one that urges us into art stores, lifts our hands and compels us to reach for things we don’t need and can barely afford but in which we see so much potential.

A little thing

It’s a beautiful Sunday in Melbourne, it’s cold and raining, my cat has placed herself squarely over one of our heater vent and much to everyone else’s dismay, Im still in my pajamas.

When asked why this was, I simply replied; “Its Sunday”.

Upon saying this a planet must of aligned somewhere in the universe because my brother turned to me and in a rare show of sibling support, agreed “She’s got a point.” My father however was not amused (did anyone see the Dr Who with Queen Victoria in it?)…

It’s taken me a while but I think I’ve arrived a a very special, very simple way of thinking; That something good doesn’t need a song and dance, doesn’t begin with someone releasing a hundred doves into the sky and doesn’t end with a crescendo. Good things are small little moments that are often passed by in the search for such fanfare.

Staying in my Pajamas till 5 o’clock in the afternoon (or evening) on a Sunday is one such thing. It’s not something that I do every Sunday, or even every second Sunday. But there are days like today where the whole world just wants you to stop and curl up in front of the teevee with your pajamas and doona.

There is a simple method for determining if in fact today is that day.

  1. Did your pet dog/cat/child completely melt your heart with its cuteness when you got out of bed?
    My charming cat this morning caught me coming back from the bathroom and decided she would spend the rest of the morning being cute beside me while I browsed the internetweb in bed.
  2. Did your mum/dad/flatmate/sweetheart make you your favorite thing for breakfast?
    Mine did. I didn’t even need to ask.
  3. Did your usually abrasive brother/sister/flatmate/cat become human long enough to allow you to spend an hour or so with your favorite computer game on their computer?
    Mine did. But I think he owed me.
  4. Did you realise you had recorded versions of a favorite teevee show waiting for you to snuggle up on the couch with a doona and watch?
    I sure did.

Yes, today has been a very special day in which all of the required factors were just right. The weird thing is that I think it came at the exact right moment, any sooner and I wouldn’t have appreciated it, any later and I may have exploded and painted some poor persons room with my guts.

I guess that that would be number five.

  1. Do you need it so bad you may pop?

I was going to make some sweeping generalised statement about the whole world being a better place if everyone smelled the daisies, but it wouldn’t be, and some places don’t have daisies. However MY world is a better place, thats enough right now.

The Princess Syndrome – or – My Rut

Last year, during my final semester of university, I lost the urge to do anything but play the sims and eat macaroni and cheese. This idleness still persists today, and I can’t for the life of me think of a definate cause.

Ive come to think of it as kind of a form of depression, it does often make me sad – Im the kind of person that likes purpose and direction on her life. But being sad isn’t at all the primary symptom.

My lack of motivation for almost all thinkgs that worries me the most. Some days I haven’t gotten out of bed just because I don’t really feel like doing anything. Projects I started months ago full of enthusiasm are permanently in their early stages because I don’t have the will to go back to them.
I don’t let it affect my work, not for motivation in my job but just because I know better. But Im still scared it might – I guess Im not that far gone.

A part of me thinks its complacentcy, life is good right now, I have a great job, a wonderfuly relationship with my boyfriend, I get along well with my parents. I call it the princess syndrome because there really is no reason for it, its the kind of affliction only a princess could get. Goodness all around but still wanting more. I feel so silly because of it.

A hare krishna girl in the city that it would be solved by the pressence of God in my life. Im mildly spiritual, I know what I believe is enough. My life is not Godless.

I read somewhere once that this is a common thing to go though as a newly formed worker bee straight from uni. Is it vain of me to think that what Im going though is even a little bit different. Or that if this was that common there would be infrastructure in place for preventing it?

This website is me proactively trying to find my own solution, my own diagnosis and my own cure. I force myself to write down anything I think may be interesting or helpful to others. And on this occasion Im open to the internet helping me. I have goals, wants and dreams and its about time I got around to actually doing something about them, Its about time I actually got out of my Rut and fif something. I just hope I actially do.